


And That's What's Left Behind In My Wake

by Hopestill



Series: A Character Study in Red [5]
Category: Ni no Kuni II: Revenant Kingdom (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Original Character(s), Other, Psychological Torture, Whump, lots of blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-07-23 23:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopestill/pseuds/Hopestill
Summary: The planned infiltration of Ding Dong Dell should have gone off without a hitch. Part of the mission may have been accomplished, but what happens to those left behind?Chapter and fic titles from Torn in Two by Sinclaire.





	1. It's not about psychology or brought on by a selfless need

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello I'm going through it the past few weeks so here's a multi-chapter (*gasp*) fic featuring Roland, my latest hyperfixation, getting beaten up and tortured for information. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> We're also going to pretend that Roland can also cast minor teleportation magic

The infiltration could have gone better. 

While Leander and Roland had thought through each avenue of failure as in-depth as only the Consuls of Evermore could, this was singular route they had happened to glaze over. Not because of the fact that there was a good chance that Roland would have been tailed to the Mark of Kings - they had considered that an inevitability. Nor was it due to the fact that this chamber was as far away from the escape route as possible, meaning that, if the operation went south, sneaking out would turn into a brawl.

No, what Roland hadn’t thought of was the king’s advisor shooting him point-blank with a crossbow. 

He felt a sudden jolt course through his body when the bolt embedded itself deep in the flesh of his shoulder, passing through the heavy fabric of his coat with ease. He stumbled backwards; his heart, already pounding a mile a minute, felt like it wanted to escape his chest. There was a dull throb of pain, and his eyes darted to his shoulder; seeing a thick wooden dowel sticking out of his shoulder, feeling the warmth of sticky crimson blood seeping through the wound and soaking his clothes brought a shuddering gasp from him, a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead, eyes furrowed and slightly blurred from the tears pricking at the edges of his vision. 

“Damn it…” 

“I’m tired of hearing this worm prattle on.” The chancellor returned the crossbow to the emotionless guard with naught more than a wave of his hand. “He should be disposed of at once. Come, Your Majesty, let us not soil our hands with this.” 

Of course, this is where the plan was supposed to work perfectly, had he not just been shot. Roland would pull out a flash-bang from his left coat pocket, use Leander’s spare pair of glasses to hide from the effects, and make it to the waterway with little additional effort. Moving his left arm only resulted in another groan of pain from him, as he took another step backward. He saw the mouse-guard advancing toward him, and, between grit teeth, his heart encouraging him, he gripped onto the base of the crossbow bolt with his right hand and pulled it out. 

The only thought encouraging him, as he felt the flow of blood increase from mere drops to a river seeping out of his shoulder, was the fact that Evan couldn’t hear the deranged curses spilling from his mouth as his legs shook with the momentous effort to stay standing. In a hurried movement characterized only by the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he pulled out the flash-bang grenade, pulled the pin, and ran. 

He pushed past the chancellor - on his right, of course - and darted up the stairs and through the winding corridors of the castle. Each step felt heavier than the last, though whether that was from the sudden exhaustion, blood loss, or the surge of adrenaline rapidly fading from his body, Roland couldn’t quite tell. He also didn’t quite care; as long as he was able to return the Mark to Evan, he could endure the pain, _any pain_ , for just a bit longer. 

Echoes of his heavy footsteps bounced off the walls of the ornately decorated, unusually empty corridors of the castle. The cries of the chancellor and his elite guard had all but faded into the distance behind him as he rounded a corner and rushed up the stairs. His eyes darted not to the open door in front of him, but a smaller door off in a dusty corner - _an old maids’ closet_ , according to Evan's tales. He could afford a few minutes to assess the damage, to patch himself up, to avoid throwing the mission in jeopardy, right? With a groan, he opened the heavy door and slammed it shut behind him, cursing as the gunshot-like sound reverberated down the hallway. 

Initial attempts to breathe in the dusty air turned into coughing fits, body wracked against the walls of the closet, spasming as he muffled himself with the back of his hand. A soft gasp and shivers of breaths slowly returned air to his lungs. Gritting his teeth, he unbuttoned the top of his coat and shimmied his shoulder out of it. Splinters jut out of his skin, out of the almost pulsing wound, exposed flesh in its bruised yellows and stomach-churning reds stinging in the cold, damp air of the broom closet. There was a telltale tightness in his arm from the dried streaks of once-warm blood, cracking like dead earth caked against his skin. Each minute movement sent searing waves through his nerves - the tip of the bolt was still _inside_. 

Of course, he kept a full stock of cures and potions on him, and this infiltration was no different. Electric pricks of pain jolted through his shoulder that didn’t seem to abate when he swallowed one of the herbal remedies he packed just in case he got into a skirmish. “Of course, something topical won’t help if it’s - ghk, embedded…” chucking darkly, he leaned against the door with his good shoulder and pushed it open. Checking around the corners once, twice, thrice, he shuffled along the original route. 

There was something different about this, something he kept pushing down back into the recesses of his mind. There was something different about that crossbow bolt, how it looked almost wet in the torchlight of that room, how its tip seemed to be hollow, like there was something inside it. If there actually was something inside that tip, and if his vision wasn’t playing tricks on him when his heart was racing a mile a minute, then all he could do was hope it wasn’t what he believed it was. 

Hope almost felt meaningless at this point, to his pessimistic mind. His arm felt warm, almost, like the sun’s rays were targeted straight at his wound. His vision was swimming - had been for some time. The castle’s walls seemed to undulate and shift, and he quickly found himself stumbling into a door frame. The groan of pain escaping his lips caused the tell-tale boot clanking of another guard to round a corner and peek over. He held his arm tighter to his body and kept stumbling onward to where the exit had to be. However many times he had turned himself around, walking where he had previously gone only to stumble into a wall, shoving splinters deeper into tissue and muscles, he had lost count. Everything felt like mud, the walls, his body, his mind, the once sharp-minded president reduced to stumbling and barely getting coherent thoughts through his mind. 

Miraculously, he had evaded the guards long enough, and turned himself around enough times, to find the door to the dungeons staring right at him. A sigh wanted to escape his lips, but it couldn’t - it felt like his lungs weren’t full of air, like they would _never_ be full of air again, like surfacing for air before getting your head shoved back underwater, strange men cursing strange words at you because it was _your fault for leaving your country to die, and now you’re doing the same thing to Evan._

Roland’s lip had been bleeding for quite some time by this point, teeth cutting through raw skin. He leaned against the door, and whether it was fueled by delirium, past traumas, or a cognizant desire to leave he pushed against the doors with his body, swinging them wide open and stumbling right into a steep flight of stone stairs. “Ok… Easy…”

He exhaled and took a shaking step. One, then two, then another. The slow pace of the steps centered him a bit - even with the coursing pain in his shoulder, how he could feel the blood once again flowing down his arm and off his fingers, how everything seemed so very blurry, how his lungs burned and seized, but all of that didn't matter because freedom was in sight. All he had to do was make it down these stairs and he could be free, he could get patched up, he could see Evan again - 

He slipped.

He misjudged where a step was - or was there even a step that far out - and soon found himself plummeting down the steps. The telltale loud smack from hitting his forehead against the edge of a step would have been despair inducing if he had the time to think. He immediately rolled off onto his shoulder, and continued hitting the steps hard as he rolled down. Each vain attempt to catch himself resulted in chipped and broken fingernails, scraped palms, cuts in his coat and knees, and hoarse yelps, before he lay in a broken heap at the foot of the stairs, right by the river that would have taken him out of the castle to freedom. 

Inevitably, he felt a new open wound on his head and the beginnings of violent bruises all over his aching body. He groaned, everything around him swimming, absolutely _swimming_ , too dizzy to stand, too dizzy to move, all he could do was lay there, simply curled into a ball. 

As he heard the faint steps of the mouse-guard close by, before he lost consciousness his gaze darted about the room, wild like a cornered animal. Somewhere in the distance, he could sense the comforting blue light of a trip door, but no matter where he looked it was nowhere to be found. Regardless, he chanted a faint spell underneath his breath - the familiar poem of teleportation he heard Evan say whenever he wanted to see home, his home, _their home_. There was no way he could teleport himself back, he knew deep within himself he lacked the magical talent for that. But if he could just get the Mark back home, then hope still lived. 

As the object disappeared in his hands, he couldn’t help but laugh with the last of his breath. Here he was, bloodied and bruised on the floor, after weeks of deceiving the people he was closest to he had to succeed if only to make up for what he did to them. Should he have prayed that Evan would figure it out, or that Leander would tell everyone before someone did something horrendously stupid? Or that the spell truly worked, and Mark actually teleported back to the Castle and not somewhere far away they visited only once? Or even, if he wanted to be selfish, that he could live another day?

When a steel-toed boot kicked him, and he could only gurgle in reply, blackness encroaching his vision far too rapidly, he knew the chance of his prayers being answered was slim at best.


	2. It's more about how I compare to you

"You're awake."

Roland jerked his head up at the feminine voice, and tried to throw imaginary blankets off of himself - a task proven to be insurmountable by the thick rope binding him to a rickety wooden chair. His arms were bound behind the back of the chair, and his feet to the legs, forcing him to sit as rigidly straight and still as possible. His head throbbed with a headache more violent than any hangover he had, but his shoulder felt like it had never gone through yesterday’s altercation;  _ magic,  _ he thought. 

"Who…" his voice sounded foreign to himself. Hoarse and low, barely above a whisper. There was no water in the air clinging to him, and the minimal torchlight in the room indicated that the room was surprisingly cozy - lush royal carpets, bookcases, and even a fully stocked desk off to the side indicated that, once upon a time, this room had been a study of some sort. The thin layer of dust over the books danced in the still air around the torchlight, swirling into a capriccioso dance as a door in the corner of the room slammed shut.

"No one you might know." That same voice cut off the man's thoughts. She waltzed closer, her heels clicking on the wooden ground and then padding on the soft rug. "I wanted to pass on word from Mausinger; your trick was very clever, Consul. A shame you couldn't see it through to the end."

"What can I say, I got a little careless." Roland glared up at the woman, dressed in the long purple robes of the royal wizard court, complete with an oversized hood obscuring all but her mouth and whiskers. "What purpose do you have to keep me here? You've already lost."

"We all know that already; don't take us to be stupid." The woman huffed. "Believe me, we've already searched your belongings, and while we didn't find the Mark, we did find some… very interesting objects we wanted to ask about."

"Oh?" Roland couldn't help but crack a smile. "Do tell, I'm all ears."

"I'm getting to that point!" She rolled her eyes and grabbed Roland by the scruff of his coat, jerking him closer to her. "Just because His Majesty wants to keep you alive doesn't mean you'll have it easy." Her breath was hot on his collar, and just as quickly as she grabbed him, she let him go with a flick of her wrist. "Now then, I have several questions for you, so listen up."

She reached into the sleeves of her robe and pulled out a creased photograph. The ink had long since lost its vibrant colors and the creases threatened to tear the picture in quarters at any given moment, but the subject in the photograph was intimately familiar with the president. A small boy, a touch too small for his age with bobbed black hair reaching down to nearly his shoulders, sitting in an overly stuffed chair, legs dangling just inches above the floor. A faint smile upon the boy's face was in part blotted out by the telltale wear of what appeared to be finger slowly stroking his cheek.

"Who is he?"

Roland kept quiet, gaze turned downward to his boots, lips pursed in a thin line. His heart began to race once more, pounding in his chest off-rhythm to the ache inside his head. "I don't think you heard me." He grit his teeth and furrowed his eyebrows.

"I said…" the wizard pulled back and slapped Roland, the sound reverberating about the room, "Who is he?"

"Now why would I tell you that?" The captive looked up, a glimmer in his eye and a smirk on his lips despite wincing at the ugly red handprint on his cheek. "The person in that photograph isn't pertinent to what you want, now is he?"

"He must be exceptionally pertinent to you, however." She paused, corners of her lips curling upward. "You must be feeling guilty."

"Oh?" Roland raised an eyebrow, voice cracking at the end of the intonation. 

"Do you know how this boy feels? He must be all alone, his parents simply… too busy to pay him attention. Or too far away, for that matter. But you want to give him attention, don't you?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Roland loathed the dryness in his voice seeping out with each word, how hoarse he sounded, vulnerability sending shivers through his legs he could only pray that the restraints prevented the wizard from seeing. 

"On the contrary, my dear!" A smirk crossed the woman's face as she flipped the photograph around between her fingers. "His name ends in Crane, does it not? Don't bother answering, your silence tells me all I need to know. You two do look a lot alike." 

He clenched his fists, looking up through his messed up hair at the woman playing with the photograph as if it were some sort of toy, keeping her barely amused. "You don't have anything else to remind you of him, don't you? What a pity."

The quietest, most cacophonous sound of paper fibers and glossy sealant breaking, bonds torn in two as the woman held the photograph aloft betwixt her hands, pulling in alternate directions. A hairline fracture appeared along the seam, growing all too fast, splitting Roland's son in two. 

"Don't!" As soon as he jerked his head up, he lowered it. He could feel watery shame pricking the corners of his vision. "Don't. Please."

"Oh? And why should I stop?" 

"That's the only thing of my son's I have! That's all I have to remember him by - what the hell do you think you're doing?" 

"This… this is it?" She glanced at the photograph, lips curled in a tight frown. Even the minimal tear she created along the seam threatened to grow at the slightest provocation. "This old thing?"

"I didn't exactly have a lot of time before all this happened. Now let go of it. Please."

The wizard stomped on Roland's foot, grinding her heel into his boot. He bit his already swollen lip. "Is everyone from your land full of idealism and excuses?" With a flick of her wrist, the paper fluttered along an invisible stream of air, right into a candle.

"Stop-"

The words caught in his throat as he made an attempt to pull at the rope tying him to the chair. He twisted and writhed, trying to force himself out of the ropes, but they entrapped him, squeezing until he could barely breathe. The remnants of his photograph charred and faded into nothing, black embers dancing down the dripping wax. 

"Mausinger was right." She mused, chin resting atop her hand. "You must be wracked with guilt, hmm? Even though you spent barely any time with him."

If he had a response, it burned up alongside his son's photograph. The static in his brain grew, syncing with and overtaking his headache with the thought of  _ he’s gone, you’ve failed. _ His legs shook, as did his shallow breaths. The cloaked mouse continued, "you're terrified, aren't you? Terrified that, someday, he'll be gone, or you'll be gone, and you'll have wholly, utterly, absolutely failed in your duties as his father. 'How neglectful', they'll say!" 

"Shut up…"

"Oh, struck a nerve, have I?" She leaned down, fingertips stroking the bottom of Roland's jaw, tracing the strong line towards his chin. "No wonder you've a strong kinship with Evan. He reminds you of your son, and you think, somewhere in your soul, that bonding with Evan will make up for how much you've ignored your son. Am I wrong?"

"I said shut up." Even so, Roland's gaze couldn't meet her's; his eyes turned to glance at the neglected bookshelf, rapidly surveying its contents, none of it filling the encroaching void of anxiety rapidly swallowing him.

"Why would spending time with Evan make up for trying to purchase your son's love?"

"I can be at least be there for Evan! I wasn’t just going to leave Evan when you were about to murder the child in cold blood! I don’t want to make the same… the same mistake I made with my son.” 

He paused, eyes wide and unfocused.

“I… my son didn't… he wasn't going to live long if I didn't...." Roland felt the teardrops welling in his eyes finally trace down his cheeks. "He… he had all of the best doctors in the nation look after him. I personally picked out his nurses, made sure he had books and toys and everything he could want."

"And to think, all he wanted was his father."

Even the dust motes floating in the air seemed to suspend their movement. When he spoke up, his voice was barely above a tired whisper. "Some sacrifices needed to be made for the country."

"Oh, don't you dare use that as an excuse." The wizard, possessed by a sudden rage, grabbed Roland's ponytail and jerked it behind him. He yelped, the force throwing him down to the ground, chair clattering, his already aching head pounding against the floor and reawakening the migraine. His captor threw a few plucked strands of black hair down at his feet. 

"You just couldn't figure out how to pencil in loving your son between your meetings with other kingdoms, couldn't you? Buying off doctors and nurses to extend his life so he could spend each day wondering when his father would ever stop by - you, Roland Crane, are the pinnacle of cowardice.” She pulled a wand, carved in the shape of a curled tail, out from her sleeve. Black miasma and purple tendrils writhed out of the end, pointed directly at her captive. 

“And I'm going to teach you what that means."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multichapter fic whomst lol, it doesn't really have a plot but I do want to expand on it so.


	3. The difference between me and you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello!! This one took a little while and tbh I'm still not happy with it but I wanted to get it out before exams hit and my beta is away for a while so here it is!! 
> 
> Also there's actual plot here, so less whump more plot happens.

* * *

"Wake up Mr. President, it's 7:17!"

His eyes fluttered open at the sound of his smartphone chirping on the corner of his bedside table. Sunlight shone in through a crack in the blinds. A car honked faintly in the distance. He groaned, rubbing his eyes, instinctively rolling over in bed and reaching out for the device. "Morning already…?" He turned on the display to swipe away the alarm notification. For a while, he stared into his reflection on the black background.

He froze. 

As if his life depended on it, he tossed the blankets aside and dashed to the bathroom, throwing open the door, gripping the porcelain sink, boring holes into his reflection. The mirror reflected his appearance in the days before the infiltration; unbruised skin, long black hair not yet put up in a simple ponytail, dark bags under his eyes from late nights planning but an otherwise youthful complexion. "This shouldn't be-" 

"5 minutes until your meeting," a robotic voice chimed from his phone.

"I got it, thanks." All hazy thoughts of sleep dashed aside, Roland ran his hands through his hair, quickly wrapping it into a low ponytail. He dressed in some suit clothes that were thankfully hanging by the bathroom door. Adjusting his blue tie, he marched down the carpeted halls of his residence, holding the phone up to his ear. "Tell them I'll be a few minutes late due to unforeseen circumstances."

"Understood."

Given the circumstances, he pondered, this must be a spell of some kind - the last thing he remembered was being swallowed by some sort of black void. Swallowed might not be the right word for it; it felt like collapsing into a dream after all but passing out into slumber, the way the intoxicating darkness slithered up him. He had heard of dream magic before, from Evan's tales of training with the wizards in Ding Dong Dell. Hell, he'd even seen it in action a few times thanks to Leander's esoteric magic interests, but this felt different… somehow. Regardless of whether it was truly dream magic, or something more sinister, the only way for him to survive was to simply experience the vision himself.

Fight his way out, too, if need be.

Roland swung open the doors to one of the several ornate offices in his residence. He nodded to a group of familiar looking politicians congregating around a coffee machine, who all greeted him with a cheerful "Morning, Mr. President! Coffee?"

"None for me, thanks." A lull presided over the conversation. "Just out of curiosity, do you see anything… different about me?"

"Well, I think that tie's new? I don't know - anyway, that's not what we should discuss at the moment." A young woman in a red pantsuit brushed her hair aside, her incredibly tall heels clicking on the tile floor as she cut into the group of men. "You're late and the debate is already falling apart, we need you there to talk to them in person."

"Hold on, I received the notice, but never an agenda for the day. Mind telling me what's going on here?" Roland raised an eyebrow at the woman; red stood out against the black suits and muted ties his aides wore.

The woman muttered under her breath as she dug through her rather tattered looking brown purse, pulling out a large stack of papers. "Do you remember this proposed peace treaty from a while back? There's several groups who oppose it and they've come to speak with you regarding if there's a way to change some of the language in the treaty."

"Mm…" Roland paused, taking the papers from the woman he was scrutinizing. "Very well. Though they should know by now that I'm not one to bend to others." He cleared his throat and pushed open the doors to the debate room. 

The swarm of representatives congregating around the table inside, arguing and waving papers in each other's faces as if they were sharp swords, hushed as Roland stepped in, staffers trailing behind him. "Well? I'm all ears."

\--

“I’ll be right back.”

Upon the meeting’s incredibly late adjournment, Roland rushed toward the nearest bathroom. The bathroom stall locked with an echoing click, and he sighed, leaning against the door. A whirlwind was racing through his head, tearing down thoughts and scattering them to the four winds just as quickly as they arose. He pulled his smartphone from his pocket and swiped multiple anxious texts from his staffers - well, mainly from the one in red, whose name appeared to be Annetta - away, and began to catalog his thoughts. He loosened the tie around his neck and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

"No one here seems to notice my appearance, so I'm not actually back in my world." He murmured. "And that woman, Annetta… she and the witch wear the same style of shoes, so if it is dream magic I suspect she's the one controlling it all. But, if this was dream magic, I would have expected something related to my fears to pop up by now."

Right as he said that, a text from someone named "Nurse Catherine" displayed on his phone. 

_ your son wants you _

"Right…" Roland scratched the back of his head and swallowed back the dread creeping up his throat, thumbs hovering over the electronic keyboard. This could go into several different directions; his son could be dying, or tell him he never wants to see him again, or whatever terrifying, inevitable conclusion Annetta wanted him to live through, experience, suffer through. He racked his brain, thoughts of what little he remembered of dream magic scattering, flying about like leaves in a torrential thunderstorm. 

A thought struck him.  _ If Annetta wants me to live through a nightmare, she'll do something to him soon.  _ His thumbs flew over the keyboard as he unlocked and pushed open the door, startling a poor intern in line.

_ Thank you; I'll be right there.  _

\--

The sterile environment of the nearby hospital always made his hair stand on end, but he shrugged it off and walked, shoes clicking on the tile floor. The usually bustling halls were eerily quiet; even the nurse who had texted him before was nowhere to be found, not even outside his son's room. Approaching room 503, he ran his hand over the nameplate and slowly pushed open the door. The door stopped for a second, after a long creak from its hinges, wobbling slightly as if it didn't want to open further. And yet it continued, until it was flush with the wall.

"William?"

"Dad?" 

A young boy in white pajamas ran over and wrapped his arms around Roland, and he felt like something in his heart broke and mended itself all at once. He knelt down and embraced his son, pulling him closer to him. "Oh William… I missed you." He spoke barely above a murmur, words wrapped in awe, the pads of his fingers pressing into his son's back. 

"I've always been here, Dad. I know you're busy."

"That's not-" William squirmed a bit on the continued embrace, pushing away from his father to talk to him face to face. Roland responded with moving a hand to the back of his head, stroking the boy's hair and bringing him even closer. "I'm sorry."

He had never felt so exhausted. The control he practiced over his words, his actions, the deftness with which he handled all his daily interactions seemed to vanish. All that existed to him at this moment was his son; did he always feel so light, his skin so cold? The thought that William was a dream crossed his mind, and as much as he wanted to ignore it, to push it aside and treat this embrace as the real thing, he knew the truth deep in his heart. Still, he could enjoy this reprieve, tell him everything he ever wanted to say before all of this-

The smartphone buzzed and vibrated in his pocket. He picked up his phone, an eyebrow raised at the caller ID. "Yes?" 

"Mr. President, you didn't forget about your 2 PM meeting, right? There's more representatives who want to discuss your treaty." 

"Annetta, without - give me a minute." He let go of his son with a forlorn expression, mouthed the words 'Back soon', and stepped outside of the room.

"Listen, Annetta, nowhere in that agenda you gave me told me there was a meeting at 2 PM. Your last minute requests are interfering with my long standing personal appointments." Roland felt tension form over the line as silence lingered in the hallway. "Annetta?" He frowned; the hallway stretched on longer than it should have, was emptier than it should be. 

"I see." A pause. Roland shifted his weight so he was closer to the door. "I'll send… someone on your behalf."

"Someone?" He smirked. "Tell me; who among my staffers has dealt with this issue the longest?"

"T-that's not important right now!"

"I think it is. Pick the one who knows my stance on this like the back of his hand and send him to meet the envoy." With that, he turned off his phone and walked back into the room.

He shivered; the sudden phlegmatic sound of wet coughing was like sandpaper to his ears, and seeing his son wracked with coughs that shook his entire body was something he had pushed back to the far recesses of his mind. His stomach dropped as the coughing continued, William gasping for breath at the end of each fit. "I'm sorry, William."

"It's ok." His son coughed out at the very end, taking a few shaking breaths with his hand on his chest. He laid down on the bed, barely making an indent on the overstuffed futon. "Dad… Do you have to go? It's ok if you do."

"No. No, I've promised you a visit, and… I've been neglectful of that." Roland sat on the edge of the bed, his hand touching his son's, and stroking along his small fingers. "I… hope they've been treating you well."

William nodded.

"And…" he thought pensively for a second. "What sort of books have you been reading?" 

William pointed toward a collection of fantasy novels stacked on the corner. “These; Mom told me they were your favorites, so I asked the nurses to bring me the collection. They’re good!”

“I remember these…" He smiled, picking up one of the books. "Have you gotten to the part where the two characters are at the Tree of Wisdom?"

"No, they get to visit the Tree?" William's eyes lit up and he leaned forward. "That's amazing! I thought no one was allowed near the Tree."

"Well, you'll just have to keep reading." He placed the book back down atop the pile ruffled his son's hair, the two of them giggling quietly. 

Incessant vibrations from his phone beckoned his attention once again. The call, this time, wasn't from Annetta. “I’m sorry, give me a moment.” He turned and answered the phone, strutting towards the door. “Yes, this is-”

“Don’t leave the room!” 

He stopped, hand hovering over the door handle. “Why, what’s going on?”

“Long story short, the people you were going to talk to at 2 were hoping to use Will as a bargaining chip. The door is armed, entering or exiting will cause the room to explode and kill whoever’s inside it.”

Roland stiffened to his full height, standing up and angling his body away from William. He cradled the phone closer to his ear and glared at the door.

“How the he- how did that happen? I just left the room a minute ago!” 

“I don’t know! I’m just telling you what I’ve been told to tell you.”

"I see. Keep me posted. If the news asks, tell them I'm in the hospital. Don't try to hide this." With that, he all but smashed the red button on his phone and shoved his phone deep into his pocket. 

"Dad, what's going on?"

"We're locked in here. We're hostages."

He could see the panic forming on his son's face, how his eyes went wide, how he trembled like a twig in a thunderstorm. It took the reserves of Roland's quickly depleting fortitude just to restrain himself from showing any sign of just how  _ scared _ he was, and yet he couldn't stop a tremor in his hands that he just  _ knew _ William was staring at.

"I'll get you out of here." Roland promised it as much to himself as he did to his son. He threw open drawers, different cabinets around him, searching for different supplies. The sterile emptiness of the hospital room grew starker and starker as he found nothing of use; spare parts for toys, a collection of textbooks, William's favorite movie, and the items only grew less helpful from there. 

Yet another buzzing from his phone startled him. "The he- what is it now…" he mumbled, glancing at the notification.

It was a message from Annetta.

_ Quite the situation you're in, Mr. President.  _

"Shut up." He muttered, throwing open another drawer, almost tossing it off of its runners and straight onto the floor. Another buzzing pulled him away from the mess he was rapidly making.

_ Come now, I'm only here to help. I can get you out of there. The deal went south since you weren't there, but they've agreed to a trade - the treaty can go through, but only one of you can leave the room. _

"What kind of deal is that?" Roland raised an eyebrow, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. "No terrorist group would think those are equitable exchanges."

"Dad?"

_ That's just what they've agreed to. _

Roland swallowed hard, and looked back at his son. The quizzical expression on his face turned into a soft smile, and that was all the confirmation he needed to take a chance on his hunch.

"Listen, if you're going to try to make me live through something horrible through your dream spell, at least make it moderately believable. You've got the spitting image of my world, but you've failed to capture enough details to make it believable. You're going to have to try harder than that." The three dots hovering next to Annetta's name appeared, and disappeared just as quickly once, twice, and then no more. The feeling of victory felt almost foreign to him after all of these days, but its warm glow slowly filled him like a rising tide. 

"Dad?" 

Roland paused, turning his head to meet his son's gaze. He knew what was coming next - given the vitriol with which he yelled at the witch, how could it not?

"Are you saying… I'm not real?"

"William, I…"

A wave of emotion crashed against him just as quickly as it arose. The look of sheer horror his son gave him - no, the look as if he wasn't even  _ related _ to him, was enough to render everything hollow again. "You are real, you're real to me, but this, you, this whole world, it's-"

"Dad, y-you're scaring me." William shrank against the pillows on his bed, hugging one tightly to him as a shield, squeezing it tighter as his father approached him. His breathing raced to a fever pitch, and one of the hospital's machines beeped and whined in a corner. 

Everything buzzed; the hospital equipment, his phone, different electronics all danced with static, whirring up to a loud whine with a frequency so high pitched Roland could barely think. Cracks rapidly formed in the glass window, on the floor, all around the two, with the same purple darkness that the witch struck him with seeping through.

He swallowed the smallest bit of pride he felt in himself. "Look around you! The world doesn't just break apart like this! I know it's scary, and I'm sorry! Blame me if you have to!" Like a dam breaking, the feelings of fear, anxiety, and grief overcame him. Everything that he had locked inside, spent years controlling, all so that he could always be in control, support, help others flooded out. He fell to his knees in front of his son.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you, when Mom died, when you had your birthday, when you wanted to show me your studies… I'm sorry I haven't been a normal dad to you." He sobbed into his arm, words cascading out as William peeked at him from behind his pillow, breathing nowhere near calm. Apologies spilled out of him like a waterfall, all but the last one barely coherent: "I'm so sorry I let your photo get destroyed." 

"Dad, I-"

And with that, a purple crack divided William into two. Purple motes flew every which way as the last remains of the dream: the books, the hospital room, his son, all faded. It was just Roland and the darkness. And all he could hear was what sounded like him sobbing. 

\--

"Roland…" Evan stared out the window of his castle, head resting on his arm. He had taken to spending a few minutes each morning musing to himself about what could have happened - not a healthy hobby, but it kept him focused on the reality he had struggled to accept ever since the tragedy that struck his father:

The people you love won't be around forever.

He rubbed tears from the corners of his eyes and hopped down from his ledge, red cape fluttering out behind him. His fists balled, he marched out of his room, opening the door with aplomb and nearly hitting a surprised Leander. 

"Waah! I'm sorry, Leander, I wasn't expecting you so early." Evan shook his head and looked up at the young man. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"There is. I bring some good news regarding our missing Consul, but I also bring some bad news. I wanted to tell you first because…" He looked down the hallway towards the stairs, before resuming in a much more hushed tone. "Because the situation is dire, and quite frankly places us on the brink of all out war with Ding Dong Dell should we handle it with anything but the utmost delicacy."

"Oh…"

"Come, I'll brief you on the way to the war room." Leander and Evan walked down the hallway, king trailing behind his junior Consul. "Roland is alive. He's being kept somewhere in the depths of Ding Dong Dell castle."

"How do you know that?"

"It's logical to keep him alive. If Roland were dead, they would have told us by now as a means to demoralize our efforts. Furthermore, it would polarize the current situation, and make them out to be the villains." Leander adjusted his glasses. "By keeping him alive, they now have a bargaining chip for any further dealings we have with them. In addition, if we try to act against them, they can go very public with the information. Think about it - we've planted a spy in their territory to steal from them and convince them to consider the declaration of interdependence. If that information were to go public, our allies would doubt that our words are genuine."

"But they have been!"

"They could easily believe we have an ulterior motive. 'Why should we all unite under Evermore's banner if they do not tell the full story?' I believe they would begin asking themselves that selfsame question. I would, if I were in their shoes at any rate."

"But… but you know Queen Nerea, you can tell her that what they're saying isn't true! That would hold among the other kingdoms." Evan jogged alongside Leander's brisk steps down the stairs, into the basement. "And Bracken, she could tell President Vector!"

"Be that as it may, it unfortunately would lead to a chance of civil war between whoever takes our side and whoever takes Ding Dong Dell's. I don't doubt Queen Nerea, but given the circumstances it would make sense for her to believe I've been… compromised. Signing the Declaration meant that Hydropolis will be destroyed - for a kingdom that seeks to become the best and unite all kingdoms beneath its banner, what does it matter if a kingdom has been united or eliminated?" 

Leander pushed aside the door to a dusty room, full of casks and barrels lining the walls, stacked haphazardly on their sides. He ran his hands over the oaken table, faint magic inscriptions glowing purple at his touch. Dried, empty inkwells lay on their sides in haphazard piles, with only one standing, pen upright. "This is the war room; Roland and I formed the plan here, so I found it only fitting we talk here."

"Gosh…" Evan hopped atop a barrel and sat, legs swinging idly. "But there has to be a way to get Roland back! We can't just leave him there! I can't even imagine what it's like for him…"

Leander bit his tongue, eyeing the king. He was young, yes, and knew more than he should of the types of magic the mouse sorcerers studied by virtue of living with them for the better part of his life. However, there was a chance he hadn't put two and two together yet. "There are a few ways we could get him back, your Majesty. We could give them back the Mark-"

"No… you and Roland worked so hard to get it back to me. And wouldn't that tell them we tricked them from the start?" Evan looked quizzically at his consul, who nodded. "What if we sent a message through someone at the castle? There's a chance that some of my old maids still work there, they could pass something on to him."

"Tempting." Leander picked up a stray piece of scrap paper and flipped it over in his hands, squinting at nothing in particular as if it held the solution to their problems. "There's the possibility they wouldn't be able to get near him, though."

"What about using one of Auntie Martha's higgledies?"

Evan looked at the stone floor before glancing back up at Leander with a pained expression before continuing. "Of course… that depends on who in the castle is keeping him captive, doesn't it? One of the warlocks could be…"

"Evan…"

The unspoken silence of mutual understanding lingered painfully too long. With the skills of dark magic at their disposal, and the Chief Consul a prisoner of war, why not simply torture their greatest intelligence asset until he either gives up all information or just… shatters? The weight of that information seemed to age Evan, even when he responded to Leander, voice filled with cautious hope.

"...We have to try it. We owe it to him. Prepare a message, and I'll send for Auntie Martha."


	4. (intermission) break me down and let me fade away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I'm in exam hell at grad school rn but I wanted to update the story - one of you kind people mentioned something plot wise that I wanted to fix (lol that's what happens when you slap on a plot last minute)  
> We'll be back to your friendly neighborhood Roland suffering momentarily

_Some time ago…_

Evan sat on his throne, noting his right side seemed empty, just as it had been the past few months. Knowing Roland left of his own accord did nothing to ease his worries, especially as he faced the growing demands of his blossoming country. Why did he have to leave now, of all times? They were so close to unification! And here he was, surrounded by the papers that were usually Roland's job to pour over - land development proposals, bills, and more, with language that, despite studying, still made his head spin.

He sighed and stood up, brushing off his legs. Maybe a walk would help him remain focused on the task at hand. As much as he wanted time to mourn all of those he had lost, the demands of a king proved to be all encompassing. He took a corridor through the castle, the new columns standing tall and firm, holding the recent additions to the ceiling perfectly. The chandeliers sparkled in the early morning light, the sun's rays catching the myriad of crystals and shattering into thousands of tiny rainbows.

Each thought of how beautiful it was always was punctuated with "If only Roland could see it…" - he hadn't meant to say that aloud, but there it was.

"I concur." Leander stepped behind the king and nodded. Evan looked over his shoulder - the usually kept consul had several cowlicks in his hair, his glasses crooked, and one button on his wrinkled shirt appeared to be undone. "My apologies, Your Majesty, if I startled you."

Evan placed a hand under his chin, eyeing Leander. "You and Roland were spending a lot of time together just before he left, correct?"

"Yes, and I can assure you, I had nothing to do with it. Roland left of his own accord."

"You're right… he did." Evan furrowed his brow. "But if he did, then why are you so focused on him? Why are you pushing yourself to take over all of his duties? He's gone, our efforts should be focused primarily on our kingdom."

"Your Majesty, that's what I was pushing for when he first left." Leander adjusted his glasses and quickly finished buttoning his shirt. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"It's just… something's not adding up." Evan bit his lip and cast his gaze to the floor. "Roland wouldn't just leave like that, and he turned coat so quickly."

Leander shook his head; this was a conversation well worn out at this point, and having it every other day had begun to wear on his near infinite patience. Just as he opened his mouth, he quickly shut it again upon hearing Evan's quiet rebuttal:

"I know traitors, Leander."

Evan once again faced his consul, eyes wide with determination. "Mausinger and Chancellor Vermine were traitors - their plan lay in wait for years, if we take what they said to be true. To say that, over the course of a few months, Roland spending less time with us and being surly just… the time doesn't make sense."

"Someone could have made him an offer he couldn't refuse." Leander wished the ice in his voice wasn't so apparent, but the way his king took a step towards him, fists balled, leaning in with a righteous fury made him simply ponder if it would be easier to give up the ruse.

"Stop it, Leander! There really isn't anything he could be offered - he's not the type of person to be bought off! Why do you keep insisting I don't think about it? I bet it's some sort of plan you made, to get them to agree with the Declaration!"

The consul adjusted his glasses, lips pursed in a thin line. He cleared his throat, then coughed, then turned his gaze elsewhere. His mouth opened, then closed, and then sighed. 

"He was supposed to be back two weeks ago. Something's gone horribly wrong." Leander glanced down the hallway, and leaned in close to the king. "I allotted an extra week in case it proved difficult to escape or get back here, but even so, I do believe we've been found out."

"Oh gosh… W-what does this mean for Roland? For Evermore?"

"Right now, I just don't know. I'm working on that as we speak, but it's proving… difficult, with assuming some of Roland's duties. I can't assuage everyone else's fears when I can barely do that for my own." 

"Mm…" Evan would have liked to ponder new solutions, or some sort of way to help, but his mind was simply preoccupied with an anxious fog. "S-so what do we do now…?"

"Don't tell the others, for a start. I doubt either of us are in a cognizant enough mental state for all that entails." The taller man yawned. "And… However more of Roland's work you can take over will benefit my search."

Suddenly the mountain of papers by the young king's throne didn't seem as monumentous. "I'll do it."


	5. It's hard to believe we're meant for defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowow I'm finally back and it only took *checks calendar* a-a month and a half... Oops... Well please enjoy the next 3.5k of whump, because the following chapter will be all about geopolitics and why Annetta has such strange motivations!!

Roland awoke to a damp cell and a wet chill that soaked through his clothes, down to the very marrow in his bones. He shivered, aches pulsing through him as he pushed himself to a sitting position. It took nearly all of his effort just to lean his back against the wall. He felt foggy, like he had spent the night in a maze of haze. "Right…" Recalling that waking nightmare disgusted him, how open he had been to his captors, how  _ vulnerable _ he let himself be.

Vulnerability was something he gave up when his classmates bullied him and his mom, when he would take a secret route home from school to avoid torment only to see his mother tug a sleeve over a bruise and welcome him home with a smile. Despite the prickly armor he used every day to keep people at a distance, some people had managed to worm their way through the ever widening cracks. First his wife, then his son, then Evan. 

And look where that got him.

He laid his head against the stone wall, and reached into his coat pocket for his anchor, the photograph. A jolt raced through him when it wasn't in the familiar spot, only to be followed by the lull of quiet defeat.

"I'm getting careless."

"That much is true." 

He looked up, perplexed by the sudden voice. Annetta walked up to the cell, a wide smirk on her face. Her gray whiskers twitched as she grabbed one of the bars on the cell, looming over her prisoner. "How did you sleep? Any dreams?" 

"Very funny.” Roland pushed himself up from the ground, staring eye to eye at his captor. “So that was a spell, then?" 

"You could say that. I've been experimenting with dream magic that gives the host more… control over their surroundings."

"Ah, so I did something unexpected and that startled you?" Roland gripped onto one of the bars for support, wiping some of the dirt and moss from the wall off of his face. 

The witch paused, fingers idly twirling a lock of hair, gaze turned toward her finger as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. "As you may be keenly aware of, surprises can be quite welcome, especially for me. As a matter of fact, I have a surprise just for you, but you'll have to wait a little while longer until it's ready."

"Oh, well that sounds  _ good _ ." The absolute dryness in his voice hurt his already sore throat, but seeing how Annetta glared before quickly turning on her heel and prancing out of the dungeon made the effort worthwhile.

He patted down his pockets, as has quickly become morning tradition to do so. If someone was going to send him a message, which he imagined Evermore would do at some point, there was a good chance it would come from a higgledy hiding somewhere close to him. Still, the emptiness of his pockets felt starker each time, as he once again came up empty handed.

There was a movie quote, one that he swore by when making hard decisions, that kept coming back to haunt him.  _ The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. _ Evan wasn't like that, but what if the others were? He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling, straight into the eyes of a white blob, with hazy floating gray eyes, holding onto a piece of paper just as big as it was. "And who might you be…?" Roland mumbled, cupping his hands to accept the spirit, which leaped down from its perch on the ceiling. It dropped the small scroll and started rolling its arms, hips swaying to a song only it seemed to hear, ending with a salute and a tiny "Higgle-piggle!"

The way his cheeks twitched when he smiled, the foreign feeling of joy clouded his smile - the higgledy took on a pose of thinking, before waving its arms wildly. It jumped up and down, then ran along Roland's arm, up to the crook of his neck and nuzzled against his cheek.

"Well… I'm glad you'll want me back." He nuzzled back and once again reclined against the wall in the corner. He pulled off the ribbon and opened the scrap of paper. 

Self doubt crawled up his spine upon reading the text. There was a part of him, locked away through years of struggling through life, that threatened to break out at the mere thought of rescue coming. He shook his head, gripping the piece of paper in his fist. What did it matter if he deserved it or not? He was going to get rescued by his family.

_ His family, huh? _

It both relieved and worried him to admit that. On one hand, the emotional distance he had purposefully kept from the others had been closing over the course of their adventure, and with hope of returning to the real world growing dimmer and dimmer then it only made sense to adopt a new family. On the other hand, any sort of emotional revelation would prove for more ammo for Annetta. He knew his doubts were growing, and despite his best efforts and years of training he wasn't sure how much longer he had before the floodgates opened.

He cleared his throat and unfurled the scroll. "We are aware of what's happening, and are working on a plan. Please hold on for a while longer." 

Joy and relief almost felt like strangers to the captive, and as much as he wanted to revel in his reacquaintance the footsteps down the hall indicated that would be a poor decision. He returned the scroll to the higgledy and folded his arms, scattering what semblance of happiness could be evident on his face. He sat on the floor, finger tapping against his arm, and began to ponder what exactly the surprise could be.

\--

After what felt like a near eternity of sitting still, the same familiar  _ click, click _ of heels echoed throughout the dungeon. He had come up empty on what the supposed surprise would be, which irritated him to no end. "You're still awake?" Annetta stifled a giggle as she pranced toward the cell, one of her whiskers occasionally twitching much like the corners of her smile.

"You think I know what time it is?" He spat back. She couldn't stifle her giggling anymore.

After wiping the tears from her eyes, chuckles dying in the damp air surrounding them, she grinned at her captive. "I don't suppose you do, oh you probably don’t even know what  _ day _ it is! You've been with us for quite a while! Aren't your friends going to come and save you?"

"I'm sure they will. At some point." Divulging what the higgledy passed on - be it through word choice or the remnants of hope - would be quite a rookie mistake. Still, the way she raised her eyebrow at him, whiskers twitching faster with excitement almost felt like he failed at  _ one more _ task.

"Focus." He mumbled to himself.

"What was that?" She closed the distance between her and the bars. "Oh my, are we getting to you already?"

"Not at all." That came out far too strained.

"Oh, well don't you fret, we have something fun planned for you." With a snap of her fingers, a blackness covered the room like a hastily thrown sheet over something to hide what it truly is. Quick undulations and ripples of darkness covered the walls, floor, and ceiling of the dungeon, wrinkles and pockets of reality smoothing out into black just as fast as they appeared, until there was no way up nor down nor east nor west. What had been known was only blackness.

Roland stood up, the rusty bars between him and the witch no more. "You've pulled this trick before, and I'm not one to fall for the same trick twice." He tossed a cursory glance over his shoulder - no higgledy in sight, thank goodness - and returned his gaze to the witch.

"Oh no! You're mistaken, this is no dream. No, we wanted you awake for the whole experience." Annetta paused. "Speaking of dreams, we should at some point discuss your performance in that one… if that was you trying to correct for years of neglect, both for your son and country, I pity poor Evan when you-"

"What do you want me to do?" Roland glared at the woman, holding his arm close to him. "One minute you want me to spend more time with my son or Evan, the next minute you want me to lead a wholly successful country - I can't will either of those to be perfect but I can do the best that I possibly can, damn it."

"Oh, are you?" Annetta flipped her hair behind her back and smiled. "You seem to have missed the point entirely, Roland. There was something I wanted you to acknowledge, but I guess I'll have to get it out of you from other means."

"What, that I'm not perfect? That sometimes I have to put aside what I want - what's best for the people close to me - to do what's best for everyone? Do you think I'm callous?" Roland's voice rose, and he could feel anger bubbling in his chest, rising through his throat like pockets of magma spitting from a volcano mere minutes before a violent eruption. "Sometimes I don't enjoy it! Sometimes I think in a meeting that I should be with my son, visiting relatives and college friends, hell, putting flowers on my wife's grave! Anything more than listening to nearsighted people who don't give a damn about their neighbors! But you know what, I chose this job because I believed I could make a difference in the world, and even if it's a small difference, even if I had to give up my life for it, it's a step in the right direction, so don't you dare lecture me on my duties, because each choice I make follows me all day and all night."

She paused, almost stunned. 

And then she laughed.

Peals of bright laughter bounced off of the dimensionless darkness they both stood in. "Oh Roland! That's- I'm-"

"What?!" He spat.

When she stopped laughing, her eyes shone with a fury unlike her typical bemused twinkle. "You're running away from your problems. You used your son to escape dealing with your citizens when they annoyed you, and you couldn't even manage that, you'd rather spend your time accusing me! That's all it is to you, isn't it? Diversions from dealing with the truly difficult? I bet Evan is just another diversion for you - someone you can help fix, and mold, and perfect, but the second he fights back, he becomes an annoyance for you. I bet you even entertained the idea of selling him out to Mausinger, didn't you?"

"You're out of your mind." Roland hissed through grit teeth, taking a threatening step towards her. "I'm helping him because he needs it, because I can - you know what? Because he reminds me of my son, too, I can be selfish damn it." His right hand twitched; the physical reality of his lack of equipment ring was all that held him back.

"A shame your wife isn't around to see you  _ inevitably _ abandon him."

Roland lunged for her, but she knocked him away deftly with a wave of her hand. Ripples of invisible magic extended around him, ensuring he remain standing. A smirk grew on her face, the flames in her eyes blossoming into hellfire.

"Got you."

She conjured shadow whips to restrain him to the floor. "It makes sense now. Why you work so hard, but leave so suddenly. Not when it gets hard, oh no! But when there's an emotional attachment… Ah, for example! You loved your wife dearly and then, one day she was taken from you."

"Don't you dare…"

"How did she die? Stabbed?" At this, Roland felt a sudden, all too sharp and realistic pain through his chest - looking down, he saw a long knife sticking out of him, covered in his own blood. The cold steel felt foreign, almost warm, too warm, blazingly hot, and all he could do was look at it in abject horror, beads of sweat trailing down his face, until finally, the initial shock and adrenaline expiring, he screamed, teeth chattering, cold coursing through his veins, goosebumps breaking out all over. 

He staggered back, all sense of composure lost and naught but the fleeting desire to escape keeping him awake and aware. If Annetta wanted to see him a mess, blood cascading down the front of his coat as he struggled to stand, well, she must be  _ delighted _ .

"Shot?"

A loud ring reverberated off of the non-existent walls in the space, and something burning pierced through his chest, next to where that sword wound should have been. It felt warm, warmer, and all of a sudden it burned with a fire brighter and more intense than the erupting volcano inside of Roland. His teeth chattered together as he fell to the floor, pitiful gasps for air escaping his lips. He looked up at the witch but couldn't tell what she was thinking - he couldn't see much more than a vague outline of her before the darkness took over entirely. 

Death was something he brushed with each day, yet its onset felt almost… anticlimactic.

"Illness?"

And yet, he could still hear Annetta's voice. 

He blinked - the darkness still surrounded them, but the gun wound wasn't there anymore. He hadn't considered that he was just fine where he was stabbed before, but the thought was of some moderate comfort. He leaned up from where he was collapsed on the ground and immediately a series of wild coughs pinned him back down. 

Some of these were dry, arid, tearing up his throat as if he swallowed blades. Others were wet, dripping, and reminded him of when he almost drowned in his family's pool when he was barely old enough to speak. The coughs with blood, vermillion dripping down his chin and burning his lungs, however, were easily the worst out of all of them. 

He didn't want to waste time on stupid questions, but he hadn't even realized when the onset of his fever was - when did he start sweating like this, body flush with red and weak enough to be rendered prone by a series of coughs? When did he feel so cold that even his multiple layers couldn't provide enough heat? Shivers punctuated his coughs, and his voice though half delirious from everything, could still be heard over his sickness.

"None… of your damn business. Leave her out of this." He pushed himself up, swaying but remaining standing, holding his arms close to himself.

"It was an accident, wasn't it?"

Roland turned around, fever dissipating in the blink of an eye. When they opened, he could see nothing but two bright lights merge into one, a cacophonous horn blaring as he stood, frozen in place. 

It was never meant to happen like this. 

"Ahh, so I was right? She was taken from you too soon, how sad." She clasped her hands together in a fake prayer, the corners of her lips curling upwards despite her best efforts. "Don't you want someone to blame?"

Roland just stood there, brown eyes covered by a thin veil of static. He heard himself pant, felt his eyes widen and the pit in his stomach grow, but it might as well be a thousand miles away. "Stop."

"Accidents happen, Roland. It's not hard to imagine they'd happen to your son… to Evan."

"Stop, please…"

"That's the thing about accidents, Roland. No matter how hard you work, how much you do for others… you can't give everyone their happy ending." 

He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering and taking a step back from Annetta. "M-maybe I can't, but I can try." When did his voice get so weak and distant?

The witch walked forward, taking off her hood to reveal a human face, round, with black locks of hair framing her rosy cheeks and soft blue eyes. "You don't have to try, Roland…" 

The noise he made was simply heartbreaking; A bubble of anger punctuated by a lightning strike of realization, the mixture of which choked by the bleakest pits of despair. "Go to hell." Was what he desperately wanted to say, but he simply hadn't seen his wife in so long, how did this witch recreate her perfectly? "I'm sorry… am I not trying hard enough?" He should have been wiser to know that this wasn't his wife. "Tell me what I can do!" He should have known, but all he wanted was comfort and damn it, after everything he went through wasn't the touch of what appeared to be his wife enough to ask for?

"With that attitude, you'll never understand." The woman cupped his face in her hands, her smile growing sharper as tears cascaded down Roland's face, cheeks flush and eyes puffy, the weight of the past years of bottled emotions finally tumbling off of his soul. "Oh Roland… You are but one man. You can't do everything. Accidents are going to happen, and when that happens, you blame yourself. You're fallible."

"No, don't say that… please, not with that… that look on your face." If the words had come from anyone else - his friends, Evan, any of his companions, hell, if these words came from Annetta they would have served some small comfort, but this, this was simply too much.

"You're just one singular man. What good will your efforts do? No matter what level of power you have, you can't help everyone. Whether that's a subject of yours, or your own flesh and blood - "

It might as well have been static on the man's ears, the way he simply murmured pleas underneath his breath, as if ashamed to say them any louder than a mere whisper. Of course that might as well have been ear splitting to Roland, the way he covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, just like he did when he was Evan's age and failed at fighting off school bullies hurling insults at his mother. The part of him that knew this was a fake image of his wife succumbed to despair, leaving shame washing over the hole it used to occupy - his wife in front of him and all he can do is cry and pretend she doesn't exist? How broken can one man be?

At some point, the faschimilie of his wife stopped talking. "Do you understand? I don't want you to do anything different. I want you to recognize your place." She stepped forward and cupped his chin. "Tell me you can't make a difference. That your efforts are insignificant. Go on."

"I… yes. My efforts… they really don't change anything."

"Good! That's what I wanted to hear, my love."

"Y-you wouldn't-"

With a soft kiss planted on his forehead, she stepped backwards once, twice, and gave him the first genuine smile of joy and bliss he had seen. And, as if on queue, two lights shone through the darkness, merging into one, and as Roland stuck his hand out to grab onto her wrist the lights merged with her, a loud horn ringing about in the darkness all the while, and all Roland could feel was warm blood caking his face and coat.

The familiarity of it all cut through the fog in his mind. "I…" 

And all he could do was scream. 

At some point he was back in his cell - the world was but a blur at this point - and Annetta once more loomed over him. "You did well, Roland. That was precisely what I wanted."

No response.

With a smirk, she turned on her heel and sauntered off, humming a jaunty tune the entire time.

At some point the higgledy resurfaced from a crack in the ceiling. It wiped fake sweat from its brow and bounced about, performing its familiar excited dance. It paused mid-leap, landing flat on its face, seeing the blank expression on Roland's face, staring off into nothing in particular. "Higgle…?"

The spirit quickly shook its head, resuming its dance as if nothing out of place had just occurred. It presented the same scroll to the man, nuzzling its head against Roland's leg while doing so. 

A question mark former over his head at the man's sheet disinterest in the scroll. The spirit pouted, and laid it upon his hand. It grabbed one of his fingers and tried to grasp and open it, but found it difficult to even move it.

"There's no need." The higgledy looked perplexed, tugging on the man's finger once more as if those words simply didn't matter. Roland turned his head to the spirit, eyes almost sunken in, a deep frown on his face.

"I'm not going back."


End file.
